AN: Hey everybody, like everyone else, I'm a little mad at the ending of Inheritance, because well, it sucked. We all know that, why the crap didn't CP realize it. Anyways, if you like this ide, let me know. I might keep it trucking.

Love the Saga, hated Inheritance ~ RawPotato

Disclaimer: I don't own this. CP does.

"No. I will not stand for this." The Elf Lord's voice raised, bringing Arya from her stupor and back into the meeting that she was overseeing.

"And why not? The tree is as much in my eye line as it is yours, I cannot see why your vision of beauty is more pressing that mine." Replied a haughty female elf that Arya knew was very passionate about the beauty in her eye line.

And while no elf placed their own thoughts on the beauty or appearance of any other elf in matters of personal appearance, the appearance of their forest was a matter important to all elves, and as queen, it was her job to mitigate such matters. But she was becoming increasingly frustrated with the simple matters that pervaded the politics of the elves. The problem with immortality, she deigned, was an eternity to hold grudges. It had been twenty-nine years since Fìrnen had hatched for her, and she longed to be free to do as dragon and Rider ought, flee free throughout Alagaseia, and protect the delicate peace that had yet to invade the whole land.

But more than that, Arya longed to see Eragon again. She knew, too, that Fìrnen longed to see Saphira. Despite his protestations that dragons didn't mate for life, she could sense a feeling of deep longing and sadness in her dragon for the mate he once had.

Peace, little one, his deep soothing voice crooned in her mind, this is the last item on or schedule for today, then we are free to take our leave to the sky. You are their queen, it is only right that the other two-legged-pointy-ears seek your advice. Though technically it is my advice they should be seeking.

Hush, you over grown lizard, she responded fondly back to him in the private confines of their joined minds, what would your advice be in this case?

He wanted to give advice on the color and shape of leaves, let him give it.

She felt as the majestic green dragon spread his consciousness to the thirty elves gathered around them, and smiled as he spoke to them in what she knew to be a condescending voice. Why change the leaves? They are green as I, am I not a wondrous sight to behold?

Leave it to Fìrnen to play to his vanity. Yes, let the leaves stay green indeed.

Nods immediately followed his proclamation, and it was then that the complaining elf, Grale left, mumbling loud enough for them all to hear about vain dragons and blue leaves.

I like blue... Fìrnen hummed between their minds, and Arya agreed, she liked blue as well.

"If that is all." The question posed as a statement, she stood to leave the hall, and make her escape to the Crags of Telnair with her dragon.

No one stopped her as she strode from the room, all heads bowed as she moved quickly passed them, and into the open air receiving room where she quickly mounted Fìrnen saddle less, and they took to the sky so quickly Arya feared she may not be able to hold on. It was a glorious few seconds, the two of them revelling in the privacy of their minds and bodies, and a few more seconds before either of them spoke, just allowing their private moment to envelope them completely.

It's been too long little one. Fìrnen's deep voice soother her frayed nerves, and she had to agree. Far too long since she'd taken to the sky with her beloved dragon.

Over grown lizard that he was.

You call me little one. She remarked. It had occurred to her that his name for her was the same as Saphira's for Eragon. Though she had only heard the blue dragon call him that once, it had stuck in her mind for a long time. The depth of affection Saphira had for the light-haired man, the gentle way of hr teasing, always left Arya in awe of the relationship that they shared. Now that she had her own dragon, she knew, but still, the name he chose was odd. For never had she heard Glaedr refer to Oromis in this fashion.

What of it? He replied, tipping his wings so that he angled himself down to the Crags and in from of Oromis' old house, where an elf still came and cleaned the rooms.

It's what Saphira calls Eragon.

Is it wrong that I should call you that? You are much smaller than me. Also very easily squished, I worry sometimes.

Arya smiled at his teasing, perhaps he'd gotten more from Saphira than his name for her.

Hmm, well dragon of mine, did you get it from her? She was curious. Not that she minded. She knew that Fìrnen greatly missed his mate, and truth be told she missed the blue dragon as well as her Rider, technically her master in all forms, as she was a Rider too, and he the lead Rider.

Saphira once told me a story, I'll not share it with you as it would embarrass her Rider terribly, but she loves him, as I love you, and I call you little one because more than myself, you are the most important thing in my life and heart, partner of my heart and mind. I call you little one, because I love you.

Arya had to hold back tears because in addition to the words, she could feel his love for her flow freely through their joined minds. She poured all of her affection for him back, and felt him hum in response, his ribs and lungs vibrating her as the drifted in for a landing.

Besides, you're smaller than Saphira's-Rider-Eragon. So between the four of us, you are by far the smallest.

Arya smiled at the teasing and lightly swatted her dragon's side as he dropped out of the air with the smoothness of a seasoned professional. Upon the Crags', they simply left their minds open to each other, communicating through emotions and memories, not bothering to trifle with words.

Eventually, as the sun was setting, Arya found her way to leaning against Fìrnen, his massive green body stretched out on the grass like a cat, allowing a good spot for her shoulders to lean back.

Little one, a small grass boat approaches. Should I incinerate it?

What do you mean?

In response, Fìrnen showed her his memory of the boat, and she immediately recognized it as one of the grass boats that she had made, and allowed the boat to float towards her, gently telling Fìrnen that his smoking nostrils were not needed in this case.

Any dark magic would have been stopped the boat at the gates to their forest, so she wasn't worried.

As soon as the boat was in reach, Arya noticed how poor its construction was, there was a square of parchment tucked between the masts that was falling out, so she went to retrieve the note, and as she did the grass immediately feel apart, leaving her with a square of parchment and a hand full of dead grass that she allowed to drop to the ground between her crossed legs.

What is it little one? Fìrnen's head came around to look at her, and settled on the ground one massive green eye looking at her.

"It appears to be a note." She replied out loud, unfolding the parchment, her traitorous heart speeding as she recognized the untidy scrawl of Eragon.

The flowing script of the ancient language, which normally looked so beautiful in any elf hand, looked stubby and messy in his. Though she could still make the words and characters out, the writing was almost an extension of Eragon himself, from the way it was fluid, yet strong and there. Though it wasn't perfect, it got the job done, and it was a while before she realised that she could read the note, and it wasn't until Fìrnen's question of its contents did she star to read.

Arya Shadeslayer

What is the correct way to greet the Elf Queen in a letter? Of course we both know the correct response in person, but in a letter, I'm not sure. In fact I consulted the Eldunarí, and not one of them knew the answer. However, assuming this poorly constructed boat doesn't crumble halfway across Alagesia, I assume you'll tell me the correct way. This letter comes to you after that first boat you sent out found its way to me in the new home of the Riders. We've yet to name our new home, though we've had four new students and three and twenty wild dragons, not to mention the nine and twenty years to name it, but I digress. Your boat found its way to me, prompting me to write to you, though I wish to write more, I'm not sure my boat could handle a longer letter. Should this reach you, and you write back, my next boat will be of sturdier construction, I will work on the skills in the mean time.

Yours, Eragon, Vanquisher of Snails

Ps. Saphira requests that you pass her best to Fìrnen.

Stunned, Arya could do no more than laugh hysterically. It wasn't often that she was rendered helpless by laughter, but her mirth seemed to have the same affect on Fìrnen, and the two of them laughed for a very long while.

But it wasn't just mirth that Arya was feeling. It was pure, unadulterated joy. Eragon was alive, safe and well enough to write her a letter, though they hadn't been in contact for a very long time, and they hadn't seen each other since that fateful night twenty nine years ago when he left, and she left him as well, she knew that the time had done nothing but deepen her love for him. It may have taken thirty two years, but Arya knew without a doubt that she loved him. Could they be together, that was a different question entirely, but she knew that she loved him.

Abruptly she stood and rushed into Oromis-eldas house and grabbed some parchment and ink and a quill to set about writing a return letter to Eragon.

Little one? Fìrnen's deep voice brought her out of her single-mindness with patience and soothing, and an excitement that matched hers. She could feel his own joy have having been given Saphira's best.

Yes, my dragon?

Thank Saphira and give her my best as well.